


Because I Can't Help (Falling in Love With You)

by soft_october



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Frivolous Miracles, Love, M/M, Making Valentine's day more bearable for everyone, So so so much love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22720912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_october/pseuds/soft_october
Summary: “Crowley?”“Look, it wasn’t ALL my fault, yeah? I just thought - I mean its no fun to be alone and - and misery loves company so, I just, you know, I just nudged it a bit - I didn’t mean for it to turn into this - this-”“Crowley, are you telling me you’re responsible for how miserable everyone is on Valentine’s Day?Aziraphale and Crowley's first Valentine's day together has pleasent and unintended consequences.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 274





	Because I Can't Help (Falling in Love With You)

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a sequel to Take My Hand (Take my Whole Life Too) but reading that isn't at all required to enjoy this. 
> 
> This one goes out to anyone who had ever had a less than ideal Valentine's Day. (So it pretty much goes out to everyone.)

It was a very _strange_ Valentines day, everyone would say, afterwards, as they woke up after a nice stretch feeling good, satisfied, _well rested_. Very strange indeed. 

Valentine’s day, you see, is often less a day about spending time with the people you love and more a day worried that the presents won’t be good enough, that you won’t have enough time, that your partner will get home late or you’ll get home late or the restaurant will lose your reservation or the chocolates will be the wrong brand or you’ll get in a fight on the way to the play and the stress, the _pressure_ that everything needs to be _perfect_ will make everyone blow up like an improperly sealed pressure cooker and leave bits of broth and vegetables strewn all over the kitchen. 

Must I elaborate on the slow tortute of what it's like to be _single_ on Valentine's Day? 

This is what's expected, anticipated, even, from a holiday that makes couples and singles alike all miserable. Valentine's Day is supposed to be a day of nerves, snippy fights, too much drinking, and unmet expectations. 

And that year, it was quite strange that it _wasn’t_. 

* * *

"Any plans for this Saturday, love?" 

Crowley looked up from the sofa, where he had been sitting for the past three days, idly scrolling through his phone when he wasn't flitting about the kitchen or shouting at the plants in the garden or snuggled in bed beside Aziraphale. He spread his arms wide, emphasizing the enormity of nothing. 

"Oh _definitely_ , angel. I mean _look_ at me, I'm swamped." Aziraphale tutted at him affectionately. 

"Oh dear, I was hoping we could plan a night out, but if you're _so_ busy then…" 

"Hrmm," Crowley stroked his chin, as if deep in thought. "I might be able to move some things around. Just for you, mind. I wouldn't reschedule organizing my DVD collection for just anyone, you know." 

"You don't have a DVD collection, love." 

Crowley snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale knew that, somewhere in the depths of the cottage they shared, the complete seven seasons set of _The Golden Girls_ (along with at least half the Bond films - _the good ones_ , as Crowley put it) had just materialized. 

"I do now. Could still put off organizing it though. If you wanted." Aziraphale softly smiled. 

"Lovely, let's make a plan for London, then." With the issue settled (as far as he was concerned, at least) Aziraphale returned to the book on his lap, chuckling over St. Augustine's rather, well, _austere_ philosophy. But the issue wasn't settled, not by a longshot. 

"Any special reason?" Crowley asked, creeping along the sofa to be a bit closer to Aziraphale's armchair. His curious nature had been piqued, and perhaps it _was_ too much to expect that conversation could be so quickly resolved. 

"Well, you know," Aziraphale explained, although the blank look he received in exchange told him that Crowley very much did _not_ know. "The date and all." Crowley pursed his lips, and flicked through his phone for a moment before his eyes went wide and he looked up at Aziraphale with a wry sort of awe. 

"Valentine's day?" Crowley drawled. " _Valentine's Day._ Really?" Aziraphale huffed. 

" _This_ is why I didn't want to mention it." Crowley drew back, his expression melting into a hurt sort of confusion. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I _knew_ you would - I knew it wouldn't mean to you what it -”

“Angel, I _made_ Valentine’s day what it is, _especially_ in the states! If there’s one person who knows the _meaning_ it’s me.” 

“And what is the _meaning_ , dear?” Crowley shrugged and mumbled something Aziraphale didn’t quite catch, and suddenly found the pattern on the drapes to be particularly interesting. 

Well, if they weren't interesting to him six months ago, when Aziraphale had been picking out the colors for the living room and Crowley had taken one look at the twenty swatches and turned green and said “Whatever you like, angel,” they certainly weren’t interesting to him now. 

“Crowley?” 

“Look, it wasn’t ALL my fault, yeah? I just thought - I mean its no fun to be alone and - and misery loves company so, I just, you know, I just nudged it a bit - I didn’t _mean_ for it to turn into this - this-”

“Crowley, are you telling me _you’re_ responsible for how miserable everyone is on Valentine’s Day?”

“No! Well, yes. But it’s just like everything else, you give just a little nudge and then the humans -” Aziraphale held up a hand for silence. 

“It’s all right." He had been foolish to think - Well, nevermind. "We don’t have to do anything at all. It’ll be just like any other day.” Crowley blinked at that, and it seemed he was hovering on the cusp of a decision. 

“Unless…," Aziraphale continued, "would you _like_ us to do something special?”

“Nah, no. I mean, unless _you_ wanted to. Do you want to? I mean of course you _want_ to, why else would you brought it up in the -” Crowley was being terribly evasive, but that wasn’t anything new. Ever since they had finally gotten a move on six thousand years of wishing to be just as they were in that moment, there had been an odd push and pull, with Aziraphale finally being the one to push them ahead, and Crowley holding them back, clinging to old worries and fears. Aziraphale blamed himself. He was the one who had held Crowley at arm’s length for so long, and even if Crowley had forgiven him, it was hard for the demon to suddenly give up six thousand years of conditioning just like that, even as Aziraphale, who had never denied himself an indulgence once discovered, always wanted more. Crowley could never deny him anything, and was desperate to keep up. 

Yes. Perhaps some compromise was in order. 

Aziraphale belatedly realized that while he had been wound up in his own head, Crowley had been talking, most likely for the entire time. 

"-because if you want to go out we can go out, I mean, you know, where ever you want to go, I'll take you there, Ritz, maybe or-" 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale reached out, took his hand, and Crowley relaxed into the touch like cat who had finally been petted after knocking things off the counter for hours. 

"Yeah angel?" 

"Why don't we just stay in?" 

"Are you sure? I mean, if that's what you want."

"What I _want_ , love," and he pulled Crowley closer to him, emphasized his words with a soft kiss pressed to the demon's lips. "What I _want_ is to spend the day with you. Totally ordinary, regular day. Together." Crowley thought for a moment, kissed Aziraphale again (for more data, of course).

"Yeah. I could do that." 

* * *

Saturday arrived, and despite all the promises that had been made on both sides, it wasn't _exactly_ an ordinary day at home. 

For one thing, Aziraphale _usually_ didn't find Crowley prattling around the kitchen at seven in the morning with streaks of flour in his hair. (Crowley could rarely be found _anywhere_ at such an hour except in his bed.) Although once he presented the reason for his uncharacteristic industriousness, a breakfast of strawberry and chocolate stuffed crepes, Aziraphale could _hardly_ find fault with him. (He would be hard pressed to find fault with the crepes, either, ans helped himself to seconds _and_ thirds.)

As for Crowley, he certainly didn't remember such a fine vintage being in their wine cellar when he went to go fetch them a bottle in the afternoon, but he thought it might be rude to mention it as he poured and brought the glasses out to Aziraphale, who was sitting out in the garden that he might watch Crowley work on his unusual flowers which insisted on blooming year round. 

Before taking the wine, Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and gently kissed his palm, in thanks. 

Crowley spent the rest of the afternoon with a bit of a flutter in his chest as he struggled to remember why he was supposed to hate this day so much. 

He vanished into the kitchen for some time after sundown, emerging every twenty minutes or so with a new course for Aziraphale to dine on until the angel burst in, crowded him against the countertop and _distracted_ him so _thoroughly_ Crowley didn't even care that the lamb came out more medium than rare. 

Later, when Aziraphale presented Crowley with a first edition _The Velvet Underground & Nico _ with a pristine banana that he just _happened_ to find in a local shop the previous day, Crowley nearly tackled him into the sofa with his need to _touch_ , to caress, and cries of _"please, dear, mind the jumper,"_ quickly dissolved into quiet laughter, and sighs. 

It felt _good_ . It felt _nice._

It felt a little bit like _to the world._

* * *

  
Yes. That Valentine’s day was very strange. 

Because, you see, it was so _nice_. 

Couples fighting in the car on the way to see their play suddenly remembered they both _hated_ that sort of navel gazing drivel, and got french fries at the diner instead, and something about the way the neon in the window reflected in each other’s eyes reminded them of the beginning, of butterflies and longing looks. 

Everyone got home on time, and, even if they didn’t, it seemed to be alright anyway, every box of chocolate was exactly the receiver's favorite, not a single restaurant reservation was forgotten, and every polycule found enough time for _everyone_. 

Those who were single and content to be so discovered that their favorite movie was on Netflix when it certainly wasn't the day before, and their supper was particularly delicious, or they found a group of like minded friends and spent an the evening all together, laughing and gaming or dancing or cuddled in a big pile on someone's living room floor. 

For the people who had spent the previous day dreading their singledom, they encountered meet-cutes to rival the plot of any romantic comedy, meeting in coffeeshop lines, in front of bookshop windows, they found the courage to admit the feelings they had been hiding from someone for months and years, spies on opposite sides of conflicts could not locate their orders from HQ, and there was nothing to do but take their rival out for a nice day on the Riviera. 

Every cynical businessperson in a small town ran into an improbably perfect love interest who could show them the true meaning of Valentine's Day. 

And, in a small cottage in the South Downs lit by candlelight, where an old song played softly on a record player, and half empty glasses of wine sat abandoned on a coffee table demon laid his head in an angel’s lap and allowed the angel to run his fingers through the demon’s long hair. He let out a long, low sigh, and murmured something Aziraphale didn't quite hear. 

“What was that, dear?”

“One Valentine’s day down, angel. ‘S’not so bad. Wouldn’t mind it.”

“Mind what?”

“Spendin’ the rest of ‘em with you.” 

Who could blame the swell in the angel’s chest, to hear that? 

He was in love. They were in love. 

They were happy. 

They still are. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Here's hoping its a great one, whatever you do! 
> 
> Talk to me here [@soft-october-night](https://soft-october-night.tumblr.com/)


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